


the wind rushes past and i can only hear the ocean

by yourrighteye (RaininginMarch)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-02
Updated: 2011-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:50:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaininginMarch/pseuds/yourrighteye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was seven years old the first time Dean took him to the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the wind rushes past and i can only hear the ocean

**Author's Note:**

> Short story for Mini-Nano 2011 - one that I've deemed good enough to post, anyhow. Inspiration struck while watching "Dark Side of the Moon".

Sam was seven years old the first time Dean took him to the beach.

Dad was out on a hunt, gone for a while already but not expected back for a few more days yet, and the mild Oregon summer was making them both feel confined and restless. The tiny cabin where they were staying at was only a mile or so from the sea, and from there it was impossible to miss the seagulls drifting lazily overhead or the faintly briny smell in the air.  
Sam had never seen the sea before.

He'd asked Dean, when they'd first come to this cabin and Dad had told them that they were at the coast, if he had ever seen the ocean. Dean had frowned at him.

"No." His tone had made it clear that he thought that it was a stupid question.

"Don't you ever wanna?" Sam had only seen the ocean in picture books and magazines, and now that they were so close he wanted to be there himself, to see and smell and taste the salt and sky and freedom.

"I don't know." Dean then turned away to look out the window, and it seemed that he had forgotten all about Sam, lost in his own thoughts, forgotten about the question altogether.

Then, three days later, he took Sam to the sea.

He'd packed up the last of their Lucky Charms, took a blanket from the bed, and dug up a change of clothes for both of them before leading Sam out onto the road. Dean wouldn't tell him where they were going, but since Dad didn't say they had to stay put this time Sam was just happy to be out in the sun without having to take care to not step on salt lines or having to watch the TV in the cabin that only has shows in black and white.

They'd walked the mile to the beach by themselves on the abandoned dirt road, surrounded by nothing but enormous trees looming over them like sentinels and birds flitting above them in the thick green canopy, a clear cloudless sky above them that was only streaked with the occassional trail of a passing airplane. Sam remembered the walk as something magical and not quite real; it was the first time he had really gotten to breathe air that wasn't tainted with gas or cigarette smoke or alcohol or the dust of the road and it was like smelling things for the first time. He'd had Dean stop at the side of the road and he'd ripped up some wildflowers by the roots, just to hold them under his nose to sniff them, their thick tangy sweetness fresh and soft and the best thing he had ever smelled.

And then they had reached the ocean.

He didn't think he would ever see something that would be so blue, stretching off in all directions, so endless and wild and free. He'd let go of Dean's hand, run down to the surf and dove in, getting sand in his hair and under his clothes and salt in his eyes, but he didn't care, because this was the ocean, and Dean was here with him, and finally he could see and hear and taste what it would be like to have no leash. Dean stayed back at first, uneasy about getting himself wet, but then Sam was splashing at him and he'd laughed, splashed Sam right back and then they were romping among the waves, two boys dripping and laughing alone in the brazen wind in front of the ocean, the surf crashing into them.

They'd found a hermit crab and they'd named it Johnny, after Dad, and poked it until it unfolded from its shell and scuttled away from them. They'd followed it until it was swallowed by the tide, lost in the rocks and crashing waves and they couldn't go any farther without falling prey to the water themselves.

"Where d'you think he's going?" Sam had asked Dean, after they'd lost sight of Johnny in the tide, the frothing water crashing mercilessly toward them.

"Back to his family, Sammy." Dean seemed relaxed then, smiling, looser than he'd been in weeks, months even, when Dad had started disappearing longer and more often and when they'd begun running out of food, going hungry, and Dean had to resort to begging to get what they needed to survive.

"D'you think he has kids like Dad has you 'n' me?"

"Yeah, Sam."

"D'you think they missed him, when he was gone?"

"Uh-huh."

"D'you think he missed them, all alone out here?"

Dean had looked at Sam then, something quiet and unreadable in his eyes. Then he'd reached over and rubbed his brother's sand-encrusted shoulder with a firm, reassuring hand.

"Yeah, Sammy. I think he did. That's why he went back, right?"

Sam had smiled.

They went back to shallower water, and Dean taught Sam how to doggy-paddle that day. That was where Sam first learned to swim, on an abandoned beach in northern Oregon, with Dean and a hermit crab named Johnny and nothing but the wind in his ears and the smell of the sea.

They ate soggy Lucky Charms for lunch and sat on the blanket to dry, and then took off their clothes to bask in the hot afternoon sun. Then Sam managed to dig an old bottle up from somewhere in the sand and they ended up making huge, lopsided sandcastle, which Dean eventually tipped over in disgust and then covered Sam with, leaving him sputtering and laughing and heaving fistfuls of sand to throw at Dean.

They had to leave before it got dark, but they did stay long enough to see the beginnings of the sunset, streaks of purple and pink and orange bleeding across the sky, the sun slowly sinking into an ocean of blazing lava.

Later, that night, just as Sam was tucked under his covers and his eyelids were slipping shut, he told Dean that it was the best day he'd ever had. He was already asleep when Dean smiled and leaned down to kiss his forehead, just like Dad always did when tucking Sam into bed, but he would always have the memory of the soft brush of Dean's breath to his ear as he whispered, softly, "Mine, too, Sammy. Mine, too."


End file.
